We arrived at the little run down trailer park after dark.

[panader0]

It was under the bridge across the Deschutes River on the east side.
It was cold for a May night. Maureen and I were in a VW camper and been
following Chuck and Colleen up from Arizona on a three day drive. Chuck had a
"happy car", an old Rambler with it's back half cut off to make a pick -up bed.
He knew a couple of guys who lived there, Sonny and Shorty. They were both winos
and had their little place over-heated. Old drawings Chuck had made of surfing were
tacked to the wall. They were very happy to receive us. Sonny explained that he was really called Cliff because he "rode the rimrock" in Eastern Oregon as a cowboy. We shared a drink or two and Maureen and I retired to the camper.
In the morning I saw the majesty of the Deschutes, wide deep and fast. We were able to rent large two story house across the river on the Warm Springs Rez from Hiram Smith.
It seemed that half the Indians shared the same last name.
Our house was right on the river, trout galore, salmon if you were lucky.

[enough]

1. ❤️

[brush]

2. More, pls.

[panader0]

3. There were three wood stoves in the the old house.

Broken windows needed repair. Hiram Smith was an old Klickitat Indian.
He downplayed the fact that he was part Chinese. He lived with his daughter
in his old age in
Madras, Oregon, the biggest nearby town.
The Rez made money from from the sawmills and the Kahneeta resort
for rich Portlanders wanting the hot springs.
He drove his big pick-up out to pick me up and made me drive deep into the trees
to cut wood. He didn't like Chuck, said he was dirty, and he showed me
a lot of things . He was about 5 ft 4. When I went to see him in Madras he
took me to his basement apartment and showed me a dozen or so fine
fishing poles on a rack. "take your pick woodsman." he said.
Sometimes the best things that happen to you, or the best people you meet
don't become apparent until later.

[brush]

4. Great writing. Novel, short story? Is it yours?

[panader0]

5. It was a fine era in my life. Very poor, but I was young.

I ended up getting Forest Service contracts to thin heavily forested
units. Hiram drove Chuck and me to the bid openings in Portland.
We beat the Russian cutters and got 350 acres on four separate units.
I eventually moved to camp on my unit, many miles from home.
Me, my dog and my buddy Chuck.
I stayed in a clear cut area, under a giant stump, near the spring.
Elk would break branches at night, making my black lab Miles bark.
I kept my food box 100 feet away. Mt. St. Helens hadn't blown yet and was visible
across the Columbia River..

We had to drive to a small town nearby to get our saws worked on.
Dropped them off, they said pick them up tomorrow.
The little grocery store had a sign: "No Cork Boots", so we took
'em off and bought some food and beer.
Sitting on the porch, eating, some migrant Mexican pickers came and
asked "Que paso?" They ende up inviting us to their place in the cherry
orchards. They had killed a deer and they were making venison chile. A huge orchard with several worker buildings. We got drunk singing songs and I awoke on the top of
a five layer bunk bed. A great night. We picked up our saws and went back to work.

[brush]

6. Finish it.

[Kali]

7. good stuff

[WestLosAngelesGal]

8. This is wonderful.

Is there more?